It's All Whatever It Is
by Kijakazibibi
Summary: When John runs into Per again it's all fine. Or at least whatever it is.    Companion to "Tonight" and "Gutted"


**NOTE:** Slightly edited form of story with same title posted on AO3 12/3/2011. Companion piece to "Tonight" and "Gutted".

M/M ; John W./OMC ; Angst

**It's All Whatever It Is by Kijakazibibi**

"John?...John!"

John doesn't respond to the sound of his name for two reasons. One is that a goodly percentage of the British male population seems to be named John, so he's learned to only respond immediately if he recognizes the voice. The tiny part of his brain that's bothering to listen at all might recognize this voice, but it hasn't kicked itself over into John's immediate consciousness yet.

The second reason why he doesn't respond is that he's mentally grinding his teeth over the completely arsed errand Sherlock has him on.

"_Sherlock, why don't you just measure a stride, calculate the number of feet in the route and multiply and see if it fits the timeline?"_

"_Because my stride wouldn't work. It won't match. He was a small man with a limp."_

"_Well, I don't limp anymore so I won't match either."_

"_But you used to. So, don't forget to take your cane."_

"_I'll limp about the flat for you and you can measure my stride."_

"_It's not the same, John. That would just result in a poor estimate and I need hard data here. There's no traffic here, no uneven pavement, no pedestrians. And you'd better get going or you're going to miss the morning rush and it'll be all bollocks until tomorrow. And try every half between seven-thirty and ten just to make sure."_

Well, screw that every half business and he left the dammed cane behind and now he's regretting that a bit because gimping around Camden Town has made his hip ache for real. All this while John's relatively sure that when he returns to the flat with his carefully recorded results and observations Sherlock will still be lounging on the couch in his pajamas having barely moved all day. John would lay bets that Sherlock will dismiss his findings. He can imagine the announcement regarding that one:

"_Oh never mind. Turns out I was wrong about the whole train thing. Forensics came up with a key for a bicycle lock. Don't ask me why they didn't turn out his pockets first thing – well, yes, actually, I **do** know why. Anderson was on it, the worthless git – anyway, I might need you to borrow a bike – I think Mrs. Hudson's got an old Raleigh – and get up there first thing tomorrow morning and clock off some routes for me."_

God, does he need this coffee.

"John!" A hand touches his shoulder just inches from the worst of his scar. It causes him to flinch and the coffee tips onto his hand.

John hisses at the pain as the steaming hot liquid splashes. He switches the cup to his right hand and shakes the coffee off his left.

"John, sorry! I was beginning to think I had the wrong person. Sorry!...John, it's me. It's Per. Do you remember? Haven't hurt yourself have you?"

Per. He'd been trying not to think about Per very much except deep in the night when the whole sordid mess of his life could get a bit overwhelming.

"Per! Umm…hello. Sorry. I was thinking about…work…Just off, actually, t—"

But Per's already pulling on his arm eagerly, like a friendly puppy asking to play. "Come join us, just for a minute. You've got a minute? We were just discussing last weekend's rugger. If Cov hadn't picked up that bloody crazed Maori we would have rolled right over them. Not a Cov fan are you? God, no, I can tell just by looking at you that you're Blackheath all the way. You are aren't you, or you'd better just run now."

John laughs briefly and goes to affirm Per's suspicion, but Per is introducing him 'round to a group of five or six others as "my friend, John," and pushing him into a chair and asking him if he didn't think the ref was a daft bugger and wasn't that always the case with Cov matches and didn't that seem a bit odd? And there isn't a moment to feel awkward because they are all off, arguing and laughing and picking apart every maul and scrum and ruck and John can't help himself falling in and having a good time of it.

By the time everybody's coffee is drunk and people are looking at their watches and grimacing at being late for work John has been offered a spare ticket to the coming week's match. When he accepts Per beams benevolently. John has been trying not to look at him any more than any of the others in the group and in the light of a sober morning with his tousle of chestnut hair and carefully scruffy beard, casual jeans and cotton oxford under an opened barn coat he looks even less like Sherlock than John remembers. John can't decide if this is good or bad.

Sherlock is, naturally, appalled at the idea of anybody actually wanting to attend a sporting event rather than spend the day observing the decay rate of human corneal cells in Thames water.

"Sherlock, surely you can find immersed corneal decay rates in the scientific literature somewhere."

"Yes, but not at the particular salinity and temperature rates of the Thames. Not to mention the unique mix of pollutants and organic materials present there in November. It should be fascinating."

"Yeah. Knock yourself out, mate."

Sherlock scowls at him. "What you get out of watching a bunch of steroidal freaks bash about in the mud I'll never understand."

"Keeps me a man of mystery in your eyes then, does it?"

"Yes. In the same way it's a mystery to me why lemmings throw themselves into the sea during a full moon, only less intriguing."

"Or how the Earth goes 'round the sun."

"Oh for god's sakes will you just _let that go_. It's getting so tiresome."

Infinitely pleased with himself, John pulls his watch cap down over his ears and walks out.

Per, John decides, must rarely move in a group smaller than a tight five and it was just pure luck that he caught him out alone that night at the bar. But, the gang thing is alright for now. It means that John doesn't have to worry about being awkward with Per and he can watch him and pick up information about him from the others without being obvious.

It doesn't occur to him to wonder if Per is doing the same with him.

It's all fine, though. The game is a good match and the weather is tolerable, even though it's cold and cloudy it's not raining. John finds himself immensely pleased to be moving in a pack of men again. He hasn't realized how much he's missed the camaraderie of other men, the casual friendliness and crudity of it, the flashes of dominance and submission and tolerance among all of the verbal horseplay like the occasional show of teeth in a tumbling pack of dogs. It is something he enjoys and is quite good at. In some ways, it feels like a homecoming.

There is beer at the game and in the pub after the game but John is keeping a handle on it this time around and though he is pleasantly buzzed most of the afternoon and evening he is not out of control. The group around Per , which at one point seems to swell to include everybody in the pub, dwindles back down to five, one of which is John this time, for a late dinner at a cheerfully noisy restaurant in Soho. As careful as John has been with his drinking he's not entirely sure how this happened.

But he's glad that it has. And it's all fine. Or at least it's all whatever it is.

"You know his partner died." This comes to John late in the evening, from one of the five, a man named Davey who is seated next to John over the remains of their meal. Only then does John realize how closely he's been watching as Per lays an arm over the shoulders of another of the group, Miles, and whispers in his ear.

"'Bout a year and a half ago now." Davey continues to tell him, low, letting the noise of the restaurant cover his words. "Drunk lorry plowed into his motor bike. Anyway, Per's just coming 'round, I think, so do us a favor and be careful."

John looks over at Davey, not sure how to take his words or how to respond.

Perhaps he senses John's ambivalence. Maybe Per has told Davey that John has someone else on his mind. Maybe Per has asked Davey to warn John off of him.

John feels a flare of indignity but knows he would probably feel the same way if the tables were turned and he was Davey. It's just concern.

It is, he admits grimly to himself, well placed.

"Come home with me, John." Per whispers this in his ear from behind when the two of them have been hanging back, fumbling into their coats. It surprises John a bit. He wasn't expecting it. Even when he's had the opportunity to talk to Per it was causally jolly and without undertone. Even when he caught Per looking at him it seemed innocuous.

He thinks of what Davey said. He thinks of Sherlock. He looks into the warm green gold rings of Per's eyes.

"Uh…" he stumbles back a little and follows the others out without answering.

On the street Per hugs his remaining cadre of friends and John shakes hands with them and they all agree it was great fun and they'll have to do it again sometime soon. Then they split up, Miles and James heading south together, Davey flagging down a cab, Bill checking his watch and jogging off to catch some bus or other back to the East End.

John watches Bill disappear into the night, his last excuse for not answering Per gone. He looks up sideways from under his brows and Per is watching him. "So….

Are you're coming then?" Per asks quietly and it takes everything John has not to close his eyes and moan because Per's voice has dipped into a lower register now. It is that much closer to Sherlock's low gravel.

John forces himself to look at him. "Davey told me about your partner."

Per considers him a moment, expressionless and then nods slightly. "I thought he might," Per looks up in the direction that Davey and Miles took. "Dear Davey…." He smiles fondly, and then looks back at John, his lips quirking with amusement. "God, he's _such_ a mother hen. Try to warn you off me did he? For my own good?"

"No….Not exactly….I don't think that was his intention…."

"Look, John, I'm not looking to get into some kind of relationship right now. I'm really not. Paul and I got together when we were very young, practically each others' firsts so…I don't…I'm just getting used to being alone. I've never really been…on my own before. It's hard but I'm not done doing it yet."

John clears his throat. He understands this. He knows how seductive being alone can seem after a hard blow, even if you don't think you're being seduced at all. Even if you think you hate it. It's like a drug that way. "So…maybe I should go, then?"

"No." Per voice is just above a whisper. "No. Don't go. I just…today's been such a good day. It's been a good day for me and…I just want it to stay that way for awhile yet." He dips his head low enough to just brush the tip of his nose against John's forehead. "Please."

John leans his head forwards a bit until he feels Per's lips press against it and he nods minutely. And for a moment they are both very still. Then Per rears his head back and squints down at him. "And here I thought you were just using me for the rugger ticket."

"Not at all," John smiles. "I'm just using you for sex."

"Best pay up then."

Per turns as soon as John steps over the threshold into his flat and catches the back of John's head with one big hand and kisses him urgently. He reaches one hand behind John and shoves the door closed, twisting the deadbolt home before putting that hand in the small of John's back and pulling him up hard against his body. For a long minute they just stand still like that kissing, the tips of their tongues just meeting and curling away, catching each other's lips carefully and pulling away again. It's careful and precise and John clings almost helplessly to the back of Per's coat while they do it.

Per lifts his mouth away and knocks John's cap off his head and pulls the scarf out of the collar of his coat and nearly chokes him yanking it off. John's hands fumble at the toggle buttons and zip on Per's barn coat. He shoves the coat down off Per's arms and then steps back to go to work on his own. Per tugs his own shirt out of his jeans and doesn't bother with any buttons except the cuffs, just drags it and the t-shirt under it off over his head. He leans over and snaps on a lamp beside a sofa, the first light on in the room.

John has a sense of books and worn, mismatched furniture and brick facing. It smells of the cinnamon and apple scent John already associates with its occupant. It is warm and that is very nice because it's cold and windy outside and beginning to rain and John is feeling chilled and the fact that his clothes are coming off very rapidly wouldn't be good if it was drafty.

He imitates Per and, grabbing the back of his jumper, pulls it and t-shirt under off over his head at once.

Per's jerking at the laces of his own boots and trying to haul them off his feet, hopping unsteadily from one foot to the other.

"Careful…" John warns and reaches to steady him, but Per's elbow knocks the lamp and it crashes off the end table to the floor. The shade cants crazily and the sudden bare bulb blinds John momentarily.

"Oh, bloody hell…." Per mutters. He sets the lamp up on the floor and goes back at his laces, hopping backwards into the arm of the sofa and sliding over it, giggling. He lifts his feet up in the air and frantically kicks his boots off. One drops off the end of the sofa but the other flips off his toes forwards and whacks him in the face. "Bloody hell!" he howls and presses his fingertips to his lip. "I hope I didn't split my lip, I don't want to have to explain to the A&E how I did it."

John, unable to keep from laughing, sits at Per's waist on the edge of the sofa. "Let me see. I am a doctor, you know."

"So I overheard." Per moves his fingers, glancing at the blood on the tips and then wiping them clean on his trouser leg.

John wipes his thumb gently at the bead of blood that wells up on Per's bottom lip and squints a bit in the bad light. "Looks okay," he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small packet of tissues. He fumbles one out and wipes his thumb clean with it before crumpling it and tossing it on the floor. He pulls a second one, folds it neatly into a square and presses it carefully against the small wound. Per lifts his chin a little, mouth slightly open, slipping his tongue under the lip so that he can push it hard against the tissue and John's fingers without catching it with his teeth. He gazes up trustingly into John's eyes. John finds the whole thing dizzyingly erotic.

"I overheard you were a soldier too," Per says when John pulls the square of tissue away and waits to see if there is any more bleeding.

"You're cured," John announces after Per runs his tongue over the spot and it only gleams with saliva. He tosses the tissue onto the floor after the first.

"It's a miracle," Per says softly.

"It's really just pressure slowing the blood flow enough so it can coagulate quicker."

Per runs his hand up John's left arm and then reaches up to comb his fingers through the short straight strands of John's hair. John watches as Per's eyes flicker over his face, to where his hand traces the tendons of John's neck down to the shoulder. His hand stops moving on John's skin, but his eyes cross back and forth over the scar tissue as if what happened there was written out in a language he can't read. John watches frown lines crease the bridge of Per's nose, the edges of his mouth.

"I didn't overhear anything about this," Per says carefully, not touching.

"I got shot. I got invalided out. Over a year ago now." John answers him shortly, dropping his own eyes to the even, unblemished skin of Per's chest and shoulders. John lifts his hand and slides his own fingers over Per's undamaged collarbone and down over the smooth pectoral muscle. He skims the pads of his fingers lightly over Per's nipple, then turns them under and rubs back over it with his knuckles. He stills his hand and ticks his thumb back and forth across the hardening nub.

Per sighs and closes his eyes for a long moment, holding lightly to John's shoulders. He swallows and his eyes bloom open, all dark pupil in the low light, wide open with desire. "Is it alright if I touch it?"

John nods briefly and leans down, taking Per's bottom lip lightly between his and kissing it, running his tongue gently along it before lifting his head minutely. "Hurt?" he whispers against Per's lips.

"Nuh…" Per breathes, kisses John back the same way as his fingers pass gently back and forth over scar tissue and healthy skin. "Does that hurt?"

"Uh-uh." John keeps working Per's nipple, and leans in to use his jaw and tongue to break the younger man's mouth open wider in a harder kiss. It's not a particularly difficult thing to achieve. "'S numb," he slurs so quietly he's not even sure if Per can hear him. "Kind of pins and needles."

He moves over Per , straddles his hips and lowers himself slowly down until they are pressed tight together from thigh to lips. John slides his hands under Per's arms and shoulders and tangles his fingers in the mop of hair. They rock against each other, finding a rhythm that seems timeless and endless. Per's fingers and hands paint and glide an invisible abstract across John's back from the waistband of his jeans to the outer edges of his biceps. John's torso arches and writhes between the strokes of Per's palms and the push and fall of Per's hips and chest.

It feels good. Per makes him feel good.

He cannot always say the same about Sherlock.

John dismisses that thought by backing up and sitting on his knees. Per runs his hand down the center of John's chest and belly and slips his fingers into the waistband of John's jeans, pulling it forward, picking at the button.

"I want to feel you in my mouth," Per says, the same trusting look in his eyes as before. He practically begs and it makes a small explosion of desire go off in the back of John's head where it's all nothing but primordial animal brain. "I want to put you in my mouth."

John groans and slips his hips back farther, his perineum rubbing over the bulge in Per's jeans. He stands up and entwines his fingers with Per's so that he can pull him up too. "Bed," he demands.

Per nods and turns, holding John's hand, leading him into the next room. They strip themselves out of their own pants and shorts and socks in the dark, lighted just barely by the lamp on the floor in the next room. Per crawls onto the bed and pulls John down beside him.

They kiss, harder and more urgently than before. Hands slip and fumble over lengths of naked skin, pressing and pinching and gliding. Their bodies lift and fall in the darkness like curtains in the breath of an open window. John rubs at Per's other nipple lightly, quickly, switches from the side of his thumb to the tip of his finger and back again. Per arches into him and moans so low it sounds like pain.

"God. That just makes me crazy."

Per puts a hand to John's hipbone and pushes him over onto his back. John falls free and lets his arms splay out, fists up by his head. When Per pulls at the inside of one thigh John obliges, canting one knee sideways and flat, the other flexed up a bit, but also spread.

There's little preliminary. Per runs his fingertips down the length of John's erection, lifts it from where it lies snug to his belly and slips it into his mouth. John jolts and gasps, fists clenching at air. "God…Jesus…."

One hand reaches down and tangles in Per's hair and John lifts his head to watch. All he can see in the dark room is the bobbing motion of a dark head. Barely suppressing a whimper of lust, John lets his head fall back onto the coverlet and closes his eyes and just _feels_ what is happening to him.

Per is good at this: his lips soft and light on a series of short, quick shallow sucks and then they tighten on a set of deeper strokes, the whole while his tongue darting and caressing at the slit in John's glans, his frenulum, the vein that runs the length of his penis. John's hips lift and fall in counterpoint to Per's mouth. Per slips a hand up John's thigh and palms his balls, rolling them, tugging at them lightly in a slow bass rhythm to his mouth. John moans as he edges close to orgasm.

"Wait….wait." John pushes up gently on Per's head and pulls himself free of Per's mouth. "Too good...You're too good at this….."

Per slips over onto his side and props his head up on his palm. "Never heard that complaint before," he smiles, his teeth a blurred glow in the dark.

"Not a complaint," John sits up, "just a caution. I don't reload like I used to. Don't want to end too soon." He twists compactly and lies down again so that faces lie opposite hips. They wiggle and push each other further down the bed so that John's legs, bent a little, fit against the headboard. John pushes his face into Per's groin and inhales deeply. He runs his tongue slowly up the length of him and insinuates a hand between Per's thighs. He reaches over Per's hip and uses both hands to pull the firm globes of muscle open, slipping fingers into the crease, stroking softly.

Per gasps and nuzzles at John's crotch for a moment and then lifts his head. "You _sure_ this is going to slow you down?"

"Doing you distracts me." John kisses his lips over the top of Per's cock and slowly eases it into his mouth and down his throat.

Per groans low and deep. "I guess I can live with that."

They pleasure each other: kissing, sucking licking. Fingers wet with dripping saliva, press and enter and drag back out again. It's agony. Side by side gives neither one the advantage or the perfect angle to complete the other. Their movements get more ragged and clumsy as they push and pull at each other until finally Per can't take it anymore.

"Aw, fuck it," he declares, pulling him mouth away abruptly, pushing John off his hip and flat to the bed again. Per turns, and shoves John down to the end of the bed until his head hangs off the edge chin to the ceiling. Per crawls between John's legs and puts his hands on John's knees, forcing his legs wide apart. He bends over John's exposed groin and takes the older man's balls into his mouth, first one, than the other and sucks hard.

John is dizzy with the extra blood flow to his brain, with lust and desire. He lifts his head to look down the length of his body, to watch as Per spits out his ball and, open-mouthed, runs his lips up the length of John's erection. Per's eyes shine black and unfocused as he gazes up at John through the dim light.

"Come in my mouth, John. I really want you to come in my mouth."

John grunts, nods once, lets his head fall back over the edge of the bed. His fists his hands into the coverlet and pulls at it, twisting it round his wrists as if hanging on for dear life. His hips jerk and arch in concert with the bobs and strokes of Per's mouth. With his head where it is, unable to see what is being done to his body, unable to think coherently from the rush of blood, all he can do is _feel_. And the feeling is intense, winding him up tighter and tighter until he thinks he will shatter from the tension and one long moan forces its way out of his mouth.

Per's finger slides into John's body, twists, drags back and forth over John's prostate and John is lost. He comes hard, buried deep in Per's throat and he can hear Per choke a little, try to back off a bit, try to swallow around his dick.

"Jesus…" John groans. "Jesus…you're going to kill me…Jesus….God…."

Per pulls off as John somehow manages to lift his head and curl his neck sideways so he can rest it on the edge of the bed. John rubs his fingers through Per's hair while Per wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes still bright in the dark.

As soon as he can manage it, John pushes himself down the bed far enough that he can lay flat out and grimaces as he straightens his neck. "Think I'm getting too old for those kinds of acrobatics."

"Don't be silly," Per laughs. "You're spectacular." He runs a hand down John's torso from shoulder to the front of his hip, slides it to his groin to comb lightly through the hair and to finger softening flesh.

John shivers at the touch, can't help flinching and pulls Per's hand away, entwining their fingers to keep it trapped. His eyes flicker down the length of Per's body stopping to admire the still hard erection standing proud in Per's groin.

"What shall we do about that, then?" he asks, his voice gruff with a kind of mental desire.

"Mmm. I have an idea," Per says, his eyes a little unsure. John waits, his heart thumping a with the uncertainty of Per's desire. Unexpectedly, Per crawls forward and turns on his side, curling his back towards John. John spoons up behind him and Per takes John's hand and places it on his cock, curling John's fingers around it, guiding John's stroke with his own hand.

John props himself up on his opposite elbow. "Just this?" he asks, a little surprised.

Per sighs and nods and John can see eyelashes flutter closed against cheekbone. John leans over him a bit more, nuzzles at his ear. "Have you got anything? It would go easier if you had some gel or something."

Per nods again and without opening his eyes tips his head down towards the bedside table. "Top drawer."

John sits up and leans over Per's legs to fumble in the drawer. His fingers close on a small bottle and he pulls it out and squints briefly at it to make sure it's the right one. It is. He pours a puddle of the gel into the palm of his left hand and recaps the bottle. Working the gel around in his hand, he lies back down behind Per and slips his arm over Per's waist.

He works his hand over Per's cock and balls until the slide is faultless. "Like this?" He whispers into the younger man's ear, rubbing his nose and lips along the soft curves of cartilage and the gentle tickle of hair. "Is this how you want it, baby, like this?"

Per nods and sighs again, one hand under his own head, gripping at own his hair, the other clutching at John's wrist as it moves. John takes the curve of Per's earlobe gently between his teeth and holds on, molds his hips and legs to Per's so that he can rock with them. Per moans and pushes his face down into the bed, pulling his ear from John's mouth, pulling John a bit further up onto his back.

"Come on, baby," John murmurs against the skin behind Per's ear, sliding his face against the skin of Per's neck, the underside of his jaw, his temple. "Come on, baby boy. Come for me. I want to see you come. That's what I want. I want to see you come in my hand. Come on now, baby boy."

Per groans louder with John's encouragement, his hips jerking hard and fast, driving his cock into the circle of John's palm and fingers.

"That's it baby," John keeps up the talk, enjoying how it seems to push Per into more of a frenzy. "Come on, baby. That's it. Come for me baby…come on…." He doesn't even really know what he's saying anymore.

"Oh…Oh!…" Per's cries increase with intensity as he falls forward so that his chest is flat to the bed, fingers scrabbling among the wrinkles of the rucked up cover. He keeps his hips twisted though, so that John can reach him, so that he can keep bucking himself into John's hand.

Per's legs kick and tangle with John's, long feet running up and down John's shins, hooking at his calves. Per twists and jerks his hips, arches away from John suddenly. "No!... God!... Oh… please… John…. God…_please_…."

He comes, semen spattering through John's fingers onto his own chest and belly, dripping onto the bed.

"Oh god…god…god…." Per shakes his head back and forth, forehead against the messed coverlet.

"Sweet baby," John keeps babbling senselessly. He's already half hard again from it all. "Good boy….Sweet baby…." He rubs his own face in the sweaty hair at the back of Per's neck. "Sweet baby…."

They settle. John slips off Per's back and Per curls again into the cup of John's body. John rests his hand against Per's belly, enjoying the slowing, softening rhythm of his breathing. He can feel Per's heartbeat against his chest. He drifts in the long, slow, soft darkness.

Eventually Per breathes deeply and stirs a bit. "Need to wash up," he mumbles.

"Mmmhmm." John acknowledges from where he's got his cheek resting against the back of Per's shoulder.

"You can go first," Per sighs.

"Mmmhmm." John agrees, but doesn't move. He's got a feeling that everything is just perfect right now and if they pull apart all the nonsense of his life will come rushing into the void between them. He doesn't think he can handle that just yet.

"I think I broke something somewhere," Per groans after several long, quiet minutes. "I'm not sure what, but things aren't working very well right now."

"Mmmhmmm." John agrees again.

"I don't know this for sure," Per says after another few minutes. "But I think that dried semen is like some kind of superglue and if you don't move your hand we may be stuck together permanently."

"Mmmm," John nips gently at the back of Per's neck. "Tragedy."

More seconds tick by in sleepy silence until Per answers vaguely, "Yeah…."

While Per might not be scientifically correct, John knows from past experience that there's something to what he says, so he pulls his hand away carefully from Per's belly and uses Per's hip to push himself up to a sitting position. Per groans but doesn't move.

"Come on," John says softly, "At least get under the covers before you freeze to death."

"I won't freeze if you come back."

"I will in a moment."

"Mmm…promise…? I don't want you to go yet."

John hesitates for only a second. He doesn't know if Per catches it, doesn't know if he wants Per to catch it. "Yeah, promise…." He gets up and folds half the coverlet up over Per's still body.

John finds the bathroom after nearly walking into the closet. The light is blinding, though, so once he's located a clean towel and the sink he closes his eyes and lets the water run in the darkness. By the time it's warm he can handle the light.

He washes himself quickly and efficiently, with minimal fuss as he would in the army. He locates some toothpaste and shoves it around in his mouth with his finger. After he spits that out into the sink and rinses his mouth he wipes his face and then stares at himself for a moment in the mirror, but only a moment.

John's not a teenager anymore, not even that much of a young man, and so he's not interested in staring into mirrors and trying to parse who the person looking back at him might be. He knows who it is. He just doesn't know what he thinks of him anymore.

_I tumbl at: kijakazibibi_


End file.
